He checked himself: he scarce dared to say it.
She nodded.
'You have seen the man, Chloe?'
Her smiling broke up in the hard lines of an ecstasy neighbouring pain. 'He has come; he is here; he is faithful; he has not forgotten me. I was right. I knew! I knew!'
'Caseldy has come?'
'He has come. Do not ask. To have him! to see him! Mr. Beamish, he is here.'
'At last!'
'Cruel!'
'Well, Caseldy has come, then! But now, friend Chloe, you should be made aware that the man—'
She stopped her ears. As she did so, Mr. Beamish observed a thick silken skein dangling from one hand. Part of it was plaited, and at the upper end there was a knot. It resembled the commencement of her manufactory of a whip: she swayed it to and fro, allowing him to catch and lift the threads on his fingers for the purpose of examining her work. There was no special compliment to pay, so he dropped it without remark.